As we all know, I love a challenge. And Melissa at The Things I’d Tell You has set one. I’ll let you check it out, and follow her while you are there. Here’s my go.
She felt like she was running.
She wasn’t, of course. Women like her didn’t run, not in public, most certainly not in heels. Not unless they were looking to call attention to themselves, which she most certainly wasn’t. Not today. Today, she didn’t want anyone looking at her, noticing her, asking if she was ok.
The sight of the station door was a relief. She pushed it open, the warm air rushing from inside and breathing her hair back against her temples.
A short walk to the ticket window. She doesn’t stop at the information screens, doesn’t need to. There is no decision to be made, not today. She knows where she is going. A safe haven.
The man at the ticket window is young. His eyes dart briefly over her, taking in and dismissing the coifed hair, the perfect make up, the oh so elegant clothes. She doesn’t look like she should be catching the train, alone, at night, even in a large, well lit station like this.
Twenty minutes. She walks purposefully to the bathroom, heels clacking on the polished floor, wheels of the designer suitcase that trundles behind her making only the slightest din.
Locking herself in a stall in the bathroom, the beautifully dressed, well mannered woman sits on the closed toilet seat and puts her head in her hands. She closes her eyes. She is almost sure she can smell milk, and talc, the most delicious aroma…
She feels like she’s crying. But she’s not, of course. Women like her don’t cry, not in public.
The woman opens her eyes with a start, checks the tiny face of her tiny watch. The train will be here in three minutes. She doesn’t want to miss it. Where had that time gone? Ten, fifteen minutes in the stall of the bathroom, and she wasn’t even aware it was passing, so deep in her thoughts had she been. Not that it was surprising, really. It had been her husband’s most frequent complaint, and she told herself it was her main reason for leaving him. He just couldn’t understand how she could lose herself like that, spend hours with her eyes closed, while life just passed her by. And it had been happening so often, since the baby died… couldn’t she just talk to him, cry with him, like she used to?
The train. She hops on, takes her seat, smoothes her dress.
She feels like she is running.